


23

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Dirty Dancing, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Making Out, Smoking, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6821683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Man may have discovered fire, but Tooru learned how to play with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	23

**Author's Note:**

> the title of this works in my documents folder is’ emo hj lol’ and that is entirely fitting. 
> 
>  
> 
> enjoy <3

There was this resonating, vibrating bass line pounding in Hajime’s ears— it shook in his bones— and he aimlessly floated in the crowd. Anonymous bodies pushed towards him as the lights shifted from striking blue to vibrant red, flickering and plunging the club into darkness ever so often. He could merely see the silhouettes of strangers— how they threw their hands up into the air and gyrated their hips to the beat— until he eyed Tooru. Red lights flashed behind him, and even if all Hajime could see was the black shadows of Tooru’s perfect profile, his slender form was far too easily recognisable for Hajime; he’d studied it too many times— in stolen glances— and committed it to memory long ago.

The lights flickered on— bright white— and Hajime could Tooru’s face. He stared upwards to the left, and he was breathing heavily through his mouth as a man— some twenty-something stranger— wrapped an arm around his hips and waist and pulled him closer, whispering something into his ear. Tooru threw his head back and thrust towards him, spine curving in one fluid motion, as though he were pure liquid, and threaded his fingers into the man’s hair.

 Hajime stepped closer to him— perhaps unconsciously, it was hard to tell in the haze of smoke and fog and alcohol— and merely stared at him. The sight left a sour taste in his mouth. Strobe lights basked in the room, and, suddenly, it was as though everything was in stop-motion; Tooru’s lips stretched into a sly smile as he gasped, pressing tighter to that stranger’s body, and distorted his body to the low beat of the bass.

Hajime licked his lips. Tooru met his gaze.

For a moment, everything else was forgotten; Tooru raised his chin and grinned at Hajime, his eyes gleaming in the bright lights as though he were a monster. Hajime stepped closer as Tooru swivelled his hips into the stranger’s groin. Tooru kept his eyes trained at Hajime, and Hajime held his gaze— he clutched it tightly in his closed fist— until he was standing right behind Tooru. All he’d require to feel Tooru’s warm body press against his was a shove of a dancing stranger behind him, an accidental push.

Tooru turned his head and closed his eyes. He must have sighed, but Hajime did not hear it; he could not hear anything other than the pounding bass. Tension rattled Hajime’s body, and drained down into his fists and squared shoulders.

He’d snapped when the stranger put his lips to Tooru’s neck, rutted up against him, and Tooru thrust up his hips to accord to this anonymous figure’s wanton need.

Hajime’s arm flung out before he could stop himself. He grabbed Tooru by the back of his neck, forcing him away from the stranger’s incessant demands, and tangled his hands in the soft hair on Tooru’s neck , up to the back of his head. Tooru stared at him— mouth open, eyes wide— and fisted his hands in the hem of Hajime’s t-shirt weakly. Hajime scowled at him, and he wanted to say something— _anything_ — but the music rattled his bones and filled his eardrum.

He released Tooru, then, only to grab his wrist and pull him out of the crowd. Hajime manoeuvred them past drunken couples and bustling groups until he opened the backdoor and pushed Tooru outside— he stumbled over the steps— and closed the door. The air was cold, and as they stood outside in the makeshift courtyard that had been forgotten about long ago, all Hajime could think about was that stranger’s fingertips on Tooru’s skin, and how his lips must have felt on the smooth expanse of Tooru’s long neck, pale like a clean slate of marble.

“That was invigorating—” Tooru began, chest heaving. He tilted his head back to the stone wall, and grinned lazily at Hajime.

“Fuck off,” grumbled Hajime, “You’re a goddamn— you’re such a fucking _asshole_ —”

“Yeah, yeah,” sighed Tooru, “You disappeared. I was bored.”

“That’s not an excuse. That— that _guy_ — just because some tall and dark stranger smiles at you doesn’t mean that you have to latch onto him.” huffed Hajime.

Tooru dug inside his pocket. He fished out a carton of cigarettes, and pulled one out, placing it between his lips.

“You shouldn’t smoke.” Hajime told him as Tooru patted his jeans for his lighter.

“Whatever,” muttered Tooru, “Fuck— you got a light?”

Hajime frowned. He pulled out his lighter— metallic and silver, a gift from Tooru long ago— and flicked it open. Tooru leaned towards him, and watched Hajime as the flame touched the end of the cigarette, turning it hot red, simmering down to red, and then orange. Tooru took a long drag. He exhaled the smoke shakily and ran a hand through his hair.

“Sorry,” he mumbled after a moment, “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to fuck everything up.”

Hajime sighed.

“You didn’t fuck everything up,” he told him a little too softly, “I’m just— you can’t expect me to stand by and watch you make a fool of yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to make a fool out of myself,” huffed Tooru, “I can take care of myself.”

“Are you _serious_?” hissed Hajime, “I bet all he needed to tell you was that you had a nice ass and you were all over him—”

“He did, actually.”

Hajime blinked at Tooru for a moment. Tooru crouched down and extinguished his cigarette, twisting the butt of it into the concrete floor with his thumb and forefinger.

“What?” Hajime hushed after a moment. Tooru shrugged, wiped his palms on his thighs, and stood once more, stepping closer to Hajime and staring into his eyes. There was this intensity in his gaze, this underlying current of something otherworldly. It was magnetic; Hajime found himself leaning in towards Tooru before he could stop himself.

“He did tell me that I have a nice ass. He did that.”

Hajime’s mouth felt uncomfortably dry.

Tooru titled his head a little and leered at him.

“I like being told I look good. Does that make me a whore, Hajime?” Tooru spat, “A dirty _slut_?”

Hajime exhaled a shaking breath.

“No— _no_ ,” he said quickly, “Fuck— Tooru— I didn’t mean it like that,” he told him, grabbing hold of Tooru’s shoulders in an effort to ground him, “I mean, I _did_ , but not like that. I just— it doesn’t make sense to me for you to do things like that with complete strangers, and it worries me, since— I mean, if you wanted somebody to compliment you, you could have just come to me.”

Tooru blinked at him in surprise. Hajime loosen the grip on his shoulders.

“You would compliment my ass?”

Hajime averted his eyes and stared down at his feet. His face erupted in a hot tropical burn.

“Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, I probably would.”

Tooru stared at him for a long while, as though he were sizing him up; as though Hajime were an opponent he had to fight, and as though it was absolutely necessary that Tooru would learn all of his weaknesses, as if he didn’t memorise all of them already.

“What else do you like about me?” Tooru said slowly.

Hajime swallowed thickly and looked at Tooru. He seemed unsure, and a little unstable. He resembled a Jenga tower that was leaning dangerously to one side, and all Hajime had to do was tap him before he would fall apart and crumble in his hands.

“I like your eyes,” Hajime spoke lowly; as though it were a terrific secret, like the kind he told Tooru when they were sharing beds as little kids, “They’re... nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah,” said Hajime, “Nice.”

“Oh,” Tooru said needlessly, “That’s— that’s— good.”

It felt unreal. Hajime wondered whether he had seen everything in a disconnected reality, for he was here— outside, gripping Tooru by his shoulders with sweating palms— and at the same time, he _wasn’t_ ; he was within, and without.

Hajime’s thoughts were halted, then. Tooru had slammed down the breaks on them with a pair of lips pressing against his— chapped against his own wet ones, a by-product of his nervous habit of biting and licking at them incessantly— and a pair of soft hands keeping his head in place. Tooru pressed their mouths together firmly with a strength that was innate in Tooru, and Hajime kissed back with vigour he didn’t know he possessed. Tooru titled his head, and Hajime released the vice grip on his shoulders in favour of cupping the back of his neck and tracing the line of his jaw as Tooru licked at his lips, and slipped his tongue inside. Tooru tasted to cherry Schnapps and cigarette smoke. It was entirely pleasant; it was entirely Tooru.

Hajime gasped into Tooru’s mouth as Tooru pushed him against the wall, slotting his hips upwards to grind against Hajime’s groin. Hajime groaned, and Tooru grinned into the kiss, pressing up against him with reassured and seemingly effortless fluidity and grace.

Hajime pushed him away, then; it was far too much. He had to collect his bearings, at least for a moment. Hajime felt drunk on the intoxicating mere proximity of Tooru.

Tooru did not show hurt. He merely licked his lips. A languid smirk spread across his face, and he inspected the flushed mess he’d left Hajime in. A silent _I told you so_ hung in the air between them— waiting for either of them to grasp it— and Hajime ran an agitated hand through his hair.

“Fuck,” he swore softly, “Holy shit— fuck, Tooru, I—” he stammered.

Tooru nodded slowly, pursing his lips in artificial understanding.

“I’ll go see if Mako is up for some dancing,” he told him.

He’d barely taken two steps before Hajime grabbed his arm. Tooru glanced at it, and then up at Hajime with unsure eyes that made him seem so much younger than he really was. Hajime felt all the strings inside him break. He pulled Tooru towards him— perhaps a little too harshly— and cupped his face, kissing him once more. Tooru slid his open mouth over Hajime’s, and sank towards him. He was compliant, and it was all far too easy, really. Tooru moaned into Hajime’s mouth as Hajime licked Tooru’s tongue with broad strokes, as though he wanted to drink Tooru up entirely.

The broke away after a moment, chests heaving flush against one another and breaths coming out far faster than Hajime had anticipated of their open mouths.

“This is a bad idea.” he told Tooru, and it was the truth. Tooru fucked with people; he fucked them up and fucked them. He wasn’t a relationship sort-of guy, whereas Hajime was a serial monogamist. He wanted to hold Tooru’s hand. He wanted to buy him flowers and dinner. He wanted more than Tooru was likely willing to give.

“I love bad ideas,” breathing Tooru, smiling at him.  

Hajime dipped his toward Tooru’s once more, swallowing up his breathless laughter and soothing it out with his tongue until Tooru moaned softly into his mouth. Hajime could feel his warm breath steam out of his nose fan over Hajime’s cheek. Each time Hajime pulled back for a needed shaking inhale of oxygen, Tooru chased after him, tipping his head to catch Hajime’s open mouth with his once more. Tooru’s fingers clutched tightly at Hajime’s shoulders and around his neck; so tight it was as though he were worried Hajime would slip away or disappear.

“Fuck,” purred Tooru. Hajime could fell goosebumps riddle across his skin.  Tooru delved his tongue deep into mouth, and Hajime pressed closer to him.

It was entirely suffocating, though Hajime could not care less; he had never felt this good. He was entirely grateful to his past-self for becoming friends with one Oikawa Tooru— an ambitious, intelligent, snotty-nosed kid who cried too much— for it all led him to this.  

Tooru’s mouth disappeared, then. He drew back and moistened his lips— eyes dark and pupils blown in the cool outside air— and licked at Hajime’s throat.

“Oh, _fu_ —” he groaned, head falling back against the wall as his mouth gulped for breath. Tooru bit at his throat, lips soft and moist and warm. Hajime felt his composure slip in Tooru’s hands as he sighed, “ _Tooru_ — God— fuck _yeah_...”

Tooru licked at Hajime’s flitting pulse and up along his jaw. Hajime hands did not still. They roamed up and down Tooru’s body on autopilot, grasping whatever smooth expanse of skin they could reach; up underneath his shirt, along his ribs and abdomen. Hajime exhaled shakily and bit into his bottom lip as Tooru’s fingers skimmed the topography of quivering muscles underneath the bulge of Hajime’s jeans. It pressed against the cup of his palm, and Hajime rolled his hips upwards and breathed harshly through his nose. Tooru unbuttoned his jeans and palmed at the front of his boxers.

“Shit—” Hajime said desperately, “You’re really going to get me off like this?”

Tooru licked his lips and looked at Hajime. His eyes held this strange nervous anticipation.

“Do you not want me to?” he asked.

“Fuck,” hissed Hajime, “Don’t be stupid, of course I want you to. Who _wouldn’t_ —”

Hajime’s head knocked back and he panted obscenely as Tooru’s quick and sly fingers slipped beneath the hem of his boxers. He pressed the pad of his thumb at the slit, and spread wet pre-come across the smooth head as Hajime writhed. Hajime swallowed thickly. He could feel his entire body burn up. Tooru’s touch was electric. His hand slipped further, until the heel of his palm bore down on Hajime’s cock.

“Holy shit, _Tooru_ —” Hajime whined.

Tooru removed his hand. He brought it up to his mouth, and licked a long and generous stride along it, pressing his fingers into his mouth and sucking on them until his entire hand was slick and wet.

“Holy shit.” Hajime repeated helplessly.

He had expected Tooru to grin slyly at his reaction, but that didn’t happen; he merely slipped it back under Hajime’s boxers and encircled the warm, leaking head of Hajime’s cock with his palm.

“Be careful with your head,” Tooru breathed hotly over the shell of Hajime’s ear.

“Fuck,” grunted Hajime, “Even when— you’re so—”

“I know,” Tooru told him, and his voice was raw with sincerity and vulnerability.

His hand worked at Hajime’s cock in full strokes. Hajime looked at him, and titled their foreheads against one another. Tooru shifted a little, and pressed his own arousal against Hajime’s thigh. He rolled his hips, fluidly, and Hajime lifted his leg to meet Tooru’s thrusts. Tooru moaned, then, loudly, as though he were a porn star.

“It’s not fair,” Hajime breathed, “You’re so— holy shit, you’re so fucking hot, Tooru—”

He knotted his fingers tightly in Tooru’s hair, and Tooru whimpered. Hajime felt heat flare in his veins with primal incessancy.

Tooru licked his lips, and locked eyes with Hajime. He observed him, for a brief moment, until he pumped his cock so fast that the skin slapped obscenely. Hajime’s back arched off of the wall.

“Yes,” Hajime breathed, “Fuck—”

His jaw went slack, and Tooru moaned without abandon as Hajime writhed and panted. He must have worn some pathetically wrecked expression as he bucked up into Tooru’s hand, clutching Tooru’s hair tightly as Tooru shifted a little. He moaned, then, and Hajime understood that he must have been touching himself, now, too. Short breaths fanned over Hajime’s cheeks and mouth, and he could not stop himself from pulling Tooru’s hair and aligning their mouths. He kissed at Tooru’s panting mouth until he could feel his own expression screw tight.

“Fuck,” moaned Hajime, “Tooru— don’t stop— just don’t stop—”

“Hajime,” Tooru exhaled. He locked eyes with Hajime, and his gaze was smouldering; it burned into the marrow of Hajime’s bones. “Pull down your jeans.”

A ragged breath drew from Hajime’s lips.

“Holy shit.” he breathed.

The hand that wasn’t tangled in Tooru’s far too soft locks frantically pulled down his jeans with almost an embarrassing degree of sheer enthusiasm. He pushed them down until his groin was free, and he arched his back as Tooru sped up his hand once more. Hajime kissed him. Pulse rattling through his body, he wrenched Tooru’s jeans down, too, and cupped along Tooru’s wet cock. Tooru keened, and his knees buckled as he fell towards Hajime, resting his head on the brick wall behind them.

Hajime pulled at Tooru’s back, adjusting his body until they were aligned in every sense of the word. Tooru inhaled a shuddering breath as the warm skin of their cocks touched.

“Fuck my hand,” Tooru whispered into Hajime’s ear, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck,” whined Hajime. He ground his hips towards Tooru’s hand and bit his bottom lip. 

“C’mon,” goaded Tooru in a low voice, “Fuck my hand— do it like you’re inside me.”

The sheer proximity of Tooru’s voice— hi enticing baritone— hung in thick air between them. Suddenly, Hajime found that it was hard to breath, as Tooru’s eyelashes fluttered shyly and his lips spread in a magnetic smile. Hajime gaped at him, and he could feel his rationality dissolve into fog as he leaned in towards Tooru; a sailor beckoned to a siren.

Heat spilled and pooled over the twitching skin of Tooru and Hajime’s hand. Hajime thrust forward, and Tooru tightened his fist around his length before he pushed down— fast— and forced Hajime’s hips to slap against his fist.

“God—” moaned Hajime, body seizing up, “Fuck, yes— _Tooru_ — don’t stop, don’t stop— don’t fucking _stop_ —”

Tooru’s eyes screwed shut. He gasped, mouth wide open, before rocking his hips towards Hajime, pushing him further towards the brick wall behind them. Hajime felt as though he could melt underneath Tooru’s touch, and he gripped Tooru tightly, shifting his free hand to scramble over his face. He cupped Tooru’s cheek, and Tooru’s eyes fluttered open at the tender feeling of Hajime’s callused fingertips trail over his skin. Hajime stared up at him with an unfocused gaze before he leaned forward and kissed Tooru, biting at his lip as Tooru watched him feverishly. He rutted without abandon.

“You feel so good, Hajime,” wheezed Tooru, “So fucking _good_ —”

Hajime felt his knees buckle.  

“Shit,” growled Hajime, “Shit, _Tooru_ — you’re so— I’m so fucking close— _don’t stop_ ,”

Tooru whimpered and canted his hips towards Hajime’s body, biting his bottom lip in an effort to still his keening moans. Hajime tangled his hand in Tooru’s soft hair and pulled as their skin slapped, since it was far too obscene, the way the mix of sweat and pre-come poured against one another.

“Tooru—” gasped Hajime, “Don’t— don’t stop— don’t fucking stop—”

“Shit,” breathed Tooru in a hitched moan, “I can’t— _fuck, Hajime_ —”

Hajime’s mouth fell open, and pulled at Tooru’s hair so hard that, at this rate, he’d go bald before thirty. His body contorted and back arched off of the wall as he titled his head back and came with a bone-shuddering intensity. His thighs trembled.

Tooru keened, and Hajime released his grip on Tooru’s hair.

“Come for me,” he whispered as he carded his fingers through the soft locks, “Fuck, Tooru; you look so _good_.”

Hajime shifted to watch Tooru’s shifting facial expressions, and the image made all the hot, stifling fog between them disparate. Tooru was gorgeous; his lips were parted, his chest was heaving, his eyes were shut tightly, and his cheeks were dusted pink.

He called Hajime’s name as he came.

**Author's Note:**

> that was an abrupt ending. here's the explanation: 
> 
> [chanting] stress relief porn! stress relief porn! stress relief porn! 
> 
>  
> 
> yell at me on my tumblr @ reminscees


End file.
